Through the Eyes of a Stranger
by Ellie Martineau
Summary: Part I of my "Origins" series: How Kid Blink got his name.


"Hey-ya wanna watch where ya' goin' kid?" The young man menaced loudly at his "assailant," who had just bowled into the young man, knocking him and his stack of newspapers to the dirty, cobblestone street. He narrowed his hazel eyes as he advanced on the boy. With no intentions of doing any actual harm, he grabbed the boy by the shoulder and spun him around, maliciously staring the kid in the eyes.  
  
Or eye, rather. Once the young man took a good look at the boy, he noticed but one good eye--the color of it so blue it seemed to pierce whatever it looked at; the other, his left eye, was covered by a leather patch. The boy, who looked about sixteen, stared fearfully into the young man's threatening eyes.  
  
"What, can'tcha talk, eidah, kid?" The young man shot out.  
  
"I.uh.yeah.ya jist.ya jist surprised me, dat's all." The kid said fearfully, running his dirty fingers through a mop of sunbleached blonde hair. "I didn't mean ta run into ya, I jist wasn't payin' attention."  
  
"Yeah, yeah." The young man said dismissing his anger. "So ya new heah or what, kid? I ain't neva seen ya 'round these pahts."  
  
"Yeah, from Jersey. The name's Blink." The boy said, regaining at least his sense of pride and sticking a still shaky hand out to the young man.  
  
"Kelly." The young man said. "Jack Kelly. Dey call me Cowboy."  
  
"Cowboy." Blink said, as though deep in thought about the name.  
  
"So-Kid Blink. What brings ya to Manhattan?"  
  
"Well, uh," Blink started, shoving his fists deep into the pockets of his brown, tattered trousers, staring up at the sky with his one good eye, "Me mudda died in 1896-"  
  
"-Last year." Jack interrupted.  
  
"-Yeah, last year. And I had ta go live wid me brudda in Maine, but he don't need me no more. So I stopped in New Yawk-what seems ta be da 'City of Opportunity.' Now I just gotta find me a place ta sleep at night and I'm happy as a hog in July."  
  
Jack laughed. "Happy as a hog in July?"  
  
Blink scowled. "Me mudda tol' me dat when I was a kid."  
  
"Ye' still a kid."  
  
"Don't call me a kid, Cowboy. You ain't much bigga dan me." Blink retorted in his own defense.  
  
"Ooh, is dat a challenge?" Jack Kelly stepped up closer to Blink. "Ya wanna find out how much bigga I am dan you?"  
  
"Ah you threatening me?" Blink asked smartly.  
  
"No, I'm provokin' yeh. Com'eah, ya dirty bumma, I'll take dat udda eye of yours out too."  
  
At that, Blink lunged at Jack. For a skinny kid, he had some force. He knocked Jack to the ground, getting lost in the loose sand and dirt as they rolled around in attempt to beat the other.  
  
Blink's mouth twisted into an evil smile as he found himself in just the perfect position: he had Jack pinned to the ground, at just the right angle at which he could bash the bastard's head in with his elbow. Jack's hazel eyes widened, for the first time showing some trace of fear, as Blink raised his arm.  
  
Neither of the boys moved. Blink didn't need to actually bash his head in. He had already gotten what he wanted: recognition of fear. All he needed was to see fear in the eyes of The Great Jack Kelly. Finally, Blink stood up and pulled Jack up with him.  
  
"We'll play again some udda time, Cowboy. I'se best be goin'." Blink said, turning away. "I gots ta find me a place ta stay."  
  
Jack, his emotions and thoughts somewhat mixed, watched the boy leave, and after a couple seconds changed his mind.  
  
"Hey, Kid Blink." He said, loud enough that the boy would hear. Blink turned back towards Jack and lifted his eyebrow in question.  
  
"I know a place where you can stay, fer two bits a week."  
  
"Oh yeah, wheah's dat?"  
  
"It's da Newsies Lodgin' House, right by heah. We can teach ya da aht of sellin' papes, and you can 'carry da bannah' wid us." Jack said, then noticing the hesitant look on Blink's face, he finished,"Think about it, kid."  
  
Blink stood silent a couple minutes with his fists in his pockets and staring up at the sky, pondering the offer. Finally deciding that it would be better than sleeping in the gutter, he accepted.  
  
The two menacing comrades made their way down the street, turning into the Manhattan Newsboy's Lodging House. A fresh start. 


End file.
